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Updated: June 9, 2025
If I take them your manuscript and say, 'It's a real piece of work, they'll ask me, 'Will it pay its way? And I have to answer them, 'I don't think it will." "But such things as they publish!" exclaimed the boy, wildly. And Mr. Ardsley smiled again. "Yes," he said. "But they pay their way. In fact, they save the business." So Thyrsis went out.
"Constance told me that her aunt often came to see her at the school, though she won't step foot in Artemis Lodge, because she vowed never to countenance Constance in her desire to live like a savage," Patricia giggled with enjoyment. "She seems to think we're a bit too primitive for her here." "Indeed! I'd like Miss Ardsley to hear that," frowned Rosamond. "Mrs.
Judith turned to the photographs again and was not to be understood so quickly. It was decided that the furniture should remain in the little room, Patricia merely adding her own desk, and that she should retain it until another room might be secured from Miss Ardsley.
During the week before the Princeton and Harvard games we went up to Ardsley and had no practice for three days. There was a five-minutes' scrimmage on Thursday. This was an unusual proceeding, but it was so intensely hot the day of the Princeton game, and we all lost so much weight something unusual had to be done. The team played well in the Princeton game, but it was simply a coming team then.
Margaret rose and made her way to another part of the room, where she seemed to be making inquiries, for a girl in a faded green linen dress nodded and then went out, returning quickly. Margaret came back smiling. "Miss Ardsley is in today," she said, "and will see us in a short while." Patricia's color rose and she held her hands together under the cover of her muff.
A picture of the fastidious, affable Directress rose clearly before her and she saw what a contrast to little efficient "Tattie," as the girls called the sturdy little house-keeper behind her back, Miss Ardsley would make at a sick-bed. "I suppose I'll have to go straight down to the office," she said aloud, as she went out into the hall. "Oh, dear, I hope she isn't going to be ill."
He sent his manuscript to this future star; and a week later came a note, written on scented monogram paper in a tall and distinguished chirography, acknowledging the receipt of his play and promising to read it. Then Thyrsis turned to attack the manuscripts which had been accumulating while he was writing. They were coming more frequently now apparently Mr. Ardsley liked his work.
A step further on stands the former residence of Cyrus W. Field, whose place, known as Ardsley, at one time covered some five hundred or more acres extending from the Post Road over the ridge to the Sawmill River.
Each day, as he went for the mail, Thyrsis' heart would beat high with expectation; and each day he would be chilled with bitter disappointment. He was still hoping for a real review, or for some signs of the book's "catching on". Nor did he finally give up until he chanced to have a talk about it with his friend, Mr. Ardsley; who explained to him that here, too, he had fallen into a trap.
Constance Fellows was at her door, unseen by Patricia, and she caught the distressed words. As Patricia hurriedly started for the stair she called to her. "Is the fair Rosamond under the weather again?" she asked lightly. Patricia turned, indignant at her levity in the face of trouble. "Rosamond is in a stupor and I can't wake her up. I'm going for Miss Ardsley," she said shortly.
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